


I Could Stand Another Day

by vials



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad timing and a serious breakdown of communication leads to a long overdue wakeup call for James and Q -- that nothing could possibly be worse than watching the other leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Stand Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> Bringing this over from my Tumblr (v1als)!

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Q knew he was likely making things awkward. There was no correct way to deal with a breakup, but he supposed that standing there and forlornly watching your partner pack his things up was probably not the correct way to go about things.

Already he was regretting a good ninety per cent of the things he had said. He didn’t regret breaching the subject in the first place, because that was something that had been inevitable, but he regretted the direction the conversation had gone since that moment. He was stressed, and so was James, and it hadn’t been a good time for a discussion of that magnitude and it certainly wasn’t a good time to act on anything they had said but Q found all his words were now stuck in his throat, refusing to come out just in case he made things worse.

He told himself that it was better this way, that he couldn’t stand another day like this, of things being tense and awful and the distance between them growing every day, but he refused to believe that the years and years they had built up together were going to crumble on the back of one bloody discussion.

But what could he say? _I didn’t mean any of that_? _Please stay_? It all seemed so stupid, like putting a bandage on a severed limb. It wouldn’t fix the problem.

James tugged a box out from under the bed, taking a pile of Q’s books from where they balanced precariously on the top and then pausing, his hand hovering in mid-air. Q peered over, shifting slightly so he could see properly; if James noticed him being so nosy, he didn’t draw attention to it.

“Oh,” Q said quietly, and he hated how fragile his voice sounded. “I forgot you used to like this stuff.”

James stared silently at the cameras, several of them – digital and complete with various different lenses, a few of them modified by Q himself when he’d had a spare few moments and James had been itching for some particular function he couldn’t find on the regular market.

“You can keep them,” James said stiffly, and Q thought he may as well have stabbed him through the heart with an ice shard.

“They’re yours,” he said quietly. “You like them. You like taking photos, or – or you did.”

“I did,” James said, stressing the final word, and Q blinked, his eyes stinging.

“They’re one of a kind,” he said. “You know, with all of the modifications…”

“You did them,” James told him. “They’re more yours than mine.”

“You just don’t want any reminder of me, do you?” Q asked, and James sighed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Q. This isn’t personal. I just don’t have any need for them.”

Q bit his lip, forcing himself to remain quiet. James stood and picked up one of the full boxes – books, as betrayed by the empty spots on their bookshelf – and left the room. Q stood frozen for a long moment and then slowly walked towards the cameras, picking up the first one and checking to see if it had battery life. It switched on with a beep and Q stared at it for a moment, before clicking to the photo gallery and flicking through. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The camera was full of photographs of him.

He managed to get twenty photos in before his eyes blurred and he had to look away, blinking furiously. He heard movement behind him and turned around, seeing James standing in the doorway. Q held the camera up with a watery smile.

“I can delete everything,” he said, his voice catching. He swallowed and forced himself to continue. “If that’s why you don’t want to take them. I can get rid of all the pictures, and I can even revert the modifications if you want, it’ll be like – it’ll be like I was never there and –”

His voice finally cracked and whatever he was going to say afterwards only turned into a sob. He hated it, the way he was just standing there _crying_ , holding the camera like it would somehow ensure his legs didn’t collapse from under him, but he had been so sure this was the right thing to do and he was only realising that it was an awful idea once it was too late.

He dropped the camera down onto the bed and walked to the door, unable to drag his eyes up from the floor – not that he would be able to see anything if he did, anyway, because he was still crying.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, reaching the door. “I’ll wait somewhere else. I don’t know why I’m so bloody insistent that you keep them anyway. You haven’t used them in months. God knows why.”

He tried to dodge around James but didn’t get far. James caught him gently by the wrist, and Q looked up briefly, finding he was unable to hold his gaze. He looked down at his feet again, seeing tears dripping onto the carpet and wishing he wasn’t so pathetic.

“Because we haven’t been anywhere worth taking photos of in months,” James said quietly. “In fact, we’ve barely seen one another. It’s a little difficult to take photos of you when I never see you, Q.”

Q slumped his shoulders. He had known he and James hadn’t been seeing much of one another for a while, but _months_? He felt ashamed to realise it was true.

“Right,” he said weakly.

“You don’t want to do this,” James said, and Q swallowed.

“It’s for the—” he began, but James interrupted.

“You think it’s what I want to hear,” he said. “You think I think it would be for the best. Given the chance, you would fight tooth and nail for this. But you think I wouldn’t. Why?”

Q stammered for a moment, taken aback. He wanted to deny it, but found he didn’t have a counterargument.

“I – because – you just – I don’t –” he began, before breaking off and taking a deep breath. “I thought that I would just give you space,” he eventually said. “Usually that helps. But it didn’t. So I just figured… and you didn’t _say_ anything.”

“I know,” James said. “Because I was being an idiot too, thinking that if you had anything to say you’d tell me. But that didn’t help either. I thought you wanted this, but now it’s obvious you don’t.”

“I don’t,” Q admitted, his voice barely a whisper. He let out another sob and quickly swallowed the rest down. “James, I thought… I thought anything would be better than how awful things have been lately but I was wrong. Nothing is worse than this. I can’t _stand_ the thought of seeing you go, I keep looking at those empty spots on the bookshelf and I just want to die. I don’t want you gone. I don’t want to give up. I _won’t_ give up, not until you personally tell me to fuck off, so if that’s what you want then tell me now or I swear I’m going to –”

James tugged on his wrist, pulling him against him, and the second Q grabbed onto him he felt his legs finally give out. He found himself suddenly unable to cry, clinging to James with every ounce of strength and reeling from the shock of what idiots the pair of them had almost been. He could feel James threading his fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes, breathing steadily, reminding himself that it wasn’t over yet. He wouldn’t let it be over.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and James sighed, giving him a tight squeeze.

“Me too,” he said, and then Q felt him let out a brief laugh. “I guess I better start unpacking, huh?”

“Yeah,” Q said, suddenly breathless. “I guess you better.”


End file.
